


Seer

by elizaye



Series: Seeing [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Castiel, Brainwashing, Demon Dean, Dreams, Guilt, M/M, POV Second Person, Season/Series 04, Top Dean, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:24:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6048034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizaye/pseuds/elizaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel sees Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seer

The first time you see him, he is glowing, a beacon of light that draws you through the smoke and the blood and the fire, draws you straight to him. And he is the Righteous Man, he is.

You grasp his shoulder and declare that he is saved.

He reaches out, touches you in return, and you pause, because his touch burns.

You return his soul to his body and breathe life back into his lungs.

* * *

The first time he sees you—the first time that he can remember—you are in the body of Jimmy Novak.

He shoots you, stabs you, righteous fury in his eyes, but none of this deters you. You tell him of his purpose, his path. You look into his eyes, into the angry turmoil of his mind, and determine the truth.

“You don’t think you deserve to be saved,” you say, disbelieving, and he watches you, wary, mistrustful.

“Why’d you do it?” he asks, and you fall back on the script.

“Because God commanded it,” you say. “Because we have work for you.”

* * *

Prepared to bring Dean to the past, you arrive at his bedside and discover that he is in the middle of a dream, twitching in his sleep.

Stepping into the dream is startling, a look into Dean’s time working at the rack.

He has a smile on his face, a smug glint in his eyes, a splatter of blood on his right cheek, a drip of it sliding down toward his jawline.

He is beautiful.

The thought startles you, and you draw back hastily.

With a gentle nudge, Dean wakes, and he gasps at the sight of you, his anger an attempt to mask his surprise.

“Hello, Dean,” you say, calm. “What were you dreaming about?”

Of course he doesn’t tell you.

* * *

You discover that something is amiss when he pulverizes a vampire’s face with his bare hands. Drenched in blood, he leaves the scene to clean himself up, and you long to follow, something dark twisting inside you, gnawing, uncomfortable.

Guilt.

Guilt, because this is your fault. You raised him, but you arrived too late. You wish to fix him, but this sort of power cannot be used on Earth, not without express permission from your superiors.

You return to Heaven and request an audience with Zachariah. As Dean Winchester is your charge, he grants it immediately, and you tell him what you have discovered, despite the punishment it will doubtless bring.

Yet Zachariah simply seems thoughtful, not a hint of disapproval in his being.

“You do not have permission to heal Dean Winchester,” he tells you, and you wonder whether that is your punishment.

“Who, then?” you ask, though the thought of another angel laying hands upon Dean fills you with distaste.

“It is more a matter of when,” Zachariah responds, and you pulse with relief.

* * *

Dean’s dreams increase in frequency and intensity, and he often calls you to him, unknowingly. It would be simple enough to ignore his calls, yet you abandon everything to go to him every time.

“Has Dean Winchester rung the bell again?” Uriel asks once, snidely, as you spread your wings.

You disregard his comment and take flight.

You slip into your role, taking the place of that piece of his subconscious, and his eyes light up, as though he knows you have arrived.

He slices into you without mercy, and you force yourself to feel the pain of it.

This is what you deserve for finding him too late.

This is your penance.

* * *

You overhear a prayer from Sam Winchester, a desperate plea for help.

He knows that his brother did not return from Hell whole. You long to answer his prayer, to lay your hand upon Dean’s forehead and expel the darkness threaded through his soul.

His prayer ends, abrupt, and you return to the seal at hand.

* * *

Dean calls for you once, and you expect another dream, but this time he is awake, intoxicated, focused hard enough on you that it summoned you.

He wants to be seen by you, yet he fears it, seems certain that you will destroy him for what he is. He has no knowledge at all of the iridescence of his soul, bright light shining through stained glass, streaked with black.

Beautiful.

You are unsure how to proceed.

“Hello, Dean,” you say, seated beside him, afraid to look at him.

Afraid. You could crush him with one borrowed hand, yet he makes you fear.

Bitterness emanates from him, anger, and you feel his eyes on your face, seeking your gaze.

You cannot deny him.

“Dean,” you say, watching him, assessing his reaction. “I do,” you admit, fear making your borrowed heart pound.

“Do what?” he asks.

You must be more clear. “See you. I do see you,” you say, to finish your thought. The sudden terror in his eyes indicates that you’ve made the wrong decision, and you consider taking flight now, escaping.

“Fucker,” he spits, rooting you to the spot.

Then his hands grasp the sides of your face and pull. You do not realize he intended to pull you closer until it is too late, for he has already crossed the distance and pressed his lips to yours.

You gasp, and his tongue presses into your mouth, the sensation strange and new and wonderful. His eyes are closed, eyelashes long and dark against his cheeks, and you close your eyes as well, mimicking the motions of his lips and tongue.

He groans and bites your lip, nearly hard enough to split the skin, and you shudder.

“What the fuck,” he breathes when he pulls away, eyes wide, pupils heavily dilated. He believes that this is against God, but that cannot be true.

“Please stop thinking that,” you say, leaning your forehead against his, feeling the life thrumming through his veins, life that you gave to him.

Yet he still expects you to throw him back into the Pit, still thinks he belongs there.

“You deserve to be saved,” you tell him, willing him to hear you, and to understand, to accept.

“You deserve to be saved,” you repeat, and wish that you could save him yourself.

* * *

After Alastair, after Uriel, you begin to lose faith in the plan. Uriel claimed that there was no God. He was lying. He must have been.

Yet there Dean lies, in a hospital bed. How could this be part of God’s plan?

Zachariah calls you to Heaven before you can go to Dean and informs you that Dean can only be restored by one of the archangels, and only if he asks.

You go to Dean as soon as Zachariah dismisses you, but he is angry, afraid, does not want to hear you. You press on regardless, telling him that the archangels can save him, on the condition that he make the request.

You’ve seen the depths of self-hatred within his soul, and you expect him to ask immediately.

“Fuck off,” he says instead, entirely unexpected.

Unsure how to respond, you let instinct guide you and simply follow his order.

* * *

In Dean Smith, you see only a shadow, a watered-down parody of the man you raised from Perdition.

It almost hurts to look at him, so you avoid him. You steer clear of Ohio and wait for your Dean to return.

* * *

Your orders cease to make sense.

When Dean asks for your help, you are granted permission to meet him but expressly forbidden from assisting. Yet the demons have already stopped their work, have reached sixty-five seals, and Sam will be alone in a room with Lilith.

Her death will be the rise of Lucifer. And if Dean is to stop Sam from killing her, he will need assistance.

Surely God does not want the world to end. Surely this is not His will.

You land before Dean, and he is frantic, desperate.

You look into his eyes, and you make your choice.

Zachariah will be furious, and you will be his first suspect. But from your words, he will know you only told Dean that you could not help.

It is a fine line, but you must walk it, for Dean.

Afterwards, Dean relaxes, and his relief carries over to you. He tells you to join him for a few drinks, so you do. But his smiles are not as contagious as his relief, and you find yourself deep in thought.

Heaven was prepared to let the final seal break tonight, prepared to let Lucifer rise. This will happen again; of this you are certain. Will Heaven take the same position next time? Will you again be ordered to stand by while Lucifer is freed from the Cage?

Dean eventually steers you out of the establishment and into the Impala. He does not say where you are going, but you’re well aware that he is not driving toward the motel.

He turns off the road, a low thread of tension in him as he drives a short distance and puts the car in park.

You know his eyes are on you, and his thoughts, his thoughts are loud enough now that you don’t even need to concentrate to hear them. He wants to have intercourse with you, and you find within yourself no objection.

“No,” you tell him when he wonders silently whether he’ll have to ask, and when you turn toward him, you are arrested by the heat in his gaze. In answer to his unspoken—unnecessary—question, you say, “And yes.”

“Fuck,” he curses, and leans in to kiss you.

You know what to expect this time, and you kiss him back, electrified by the drag of his tongue against yours.

He pulls away far too soon, and then he’s unbuckling his belt, pulling his cock out. His hand returns to your cheek, then slides backwards, threading into your hair, and you understand his intent.

You lean over, wrap your lips around him, and suck.

“Oh, god,” he says, hips jerking minutely.

His hand presses on the back of your head, and you go down, widening your jaw and opening your throat to him when he continues to push.

“Oh fuck, Jesus,  _fuck_ ,” he curses, rolling his hips a little. You swallow, involuntary, and Dean makes a startled noise. “Holy fucking shit, Cas, your  _mouth_ ,” he says, letting up on your head.

You start to pull up, but before he’s left your throat, he shoves you back down again, letting out a loud moan when you put up no resistance.

Spit gathers in your mouth, leaks out around him when he starts fucking your throat, small, gentle thrusts at first, then faster, harder, greedier. He eventually draws back enough that you taste the bitterness coming from the tip of him, and you savor it, because it is Dean.

He tugs at your hair then, pulls you off, and you’re disappointed.

“Get in the back,” he says, voice hoarse even though your throat was the one taking abuse.

It takes only a flap of your wings, but Dean has to get out of the car and climb back in to join you. He fumbles at your clothing, trying to get it off, and you simply will it away, Dean’s urgency fueling yours.

He presses a finger inside you, then two, and it hurts a little, but it certainly isn’t more painful than being shot and subsequently stabbed was, and your arousal doesn’t abate in the slightest.

When Dean pushes into you, you cry out, startled at yourself. He slows but doesn’t stop, leaning down and bracing his arms on either side of you. You drop to your elbows to accommodate him, and he gives one quick, rough shove, fills you up entirely.

He starts moving, and the entire cosmos narrows down to Dean—to each hot breath against your back, each unrelenting thrust of his hips, to the soft curses he breathes as he speeds up.

“Dean,” you gasp, even though you’ve nothing to say, and then his cock brushes your prostate, and you yelp at the sensation.

He gets out a laugh, fucking in harder, catching your prostate more often now, and before you know it, he’s brought you to the precipice, to the pinnacle, and you teeter there, precarious.

His next thrust draws his name from your lips, and then you fall.

* * *

You find Anna, or she allows herself to be found. You do not share Heaven’s orders with her, but you ask her about disobedience, about whether there is a right time to disobey.

You have disobeyed before, for Dean, and you are disobeying even now, seeing Anna without alerting Heaven.

But she saved your life, and you owe her a debt.

She doesn’t answer your question and says instead, “The mindlessly obedient are powerless. You have so much potential, Castiel, but you must take choice into your own hands.”

Her words are cryptic to you, and they provide none of the guidance you hoped for when you sought her out. You thank her anyway.

* * *

At last, you work up the courage to tell Dean, to warn him of the path that lies ahead. But your brethren have been watching, and you are stripped from your vessel before you can tell Dean anything.

In Heaven, you are given a choice: you can be reassigned to another task, or you can continue as the Righteous Man’s guardian, at a price.

There really is no choice.

* * *

You’ve never felt pain like this before, and you wonder whether it compares to what Dean experienced in Hell.

* * *

You next see Dean through Claire Novak’s eyes, and the darkness swirling within him is repulsive, ugly. Dean is broken.

(Dean is  _beautiful_.)

You smite the demons and return to your former vessel’s side to offer comfort in his last moments, and to reassure him that you were always going to keep your promise to him. You are a righteous agent of Heaven, doing God’s will, and it is time for Jimmy Novak to rest now, a reward for his service.

Yet he clings to you, struggling with the words, and begs you to return to him, to take him instead of his daughter.

He’d never been happy with his decision, and while you can see that he is doing this for his daughter, you do not understand this sacrifice.

You grant him his wish, taking back your old vessel, and even though every human vessel should feel the same, this is—

(Familiar. You like this body. It feels more like yours.)

You turn away from the girl and see Dean, see the twisted smoke inside him, roiling, fractured, disgusting.

(Breathtaking.)

“Cas,” he says, but your work is done here, and you need not interact with Dean again, so you move past him, toward the exit. “Cas, hold up,” he says, more insistently, and you pause in your footsteps. “What were you gonna tell me?”

(Everything. Run, Dean. Take Sam and run, while you can.)

“I learned my lesson while I was away, Dean,” you say, speaking the truth. (It’s all a lie.) “I serve Heaven. I don’t serve man, and I certainly don’t serve you.”

Dean’s expression goes blank, and you take your leave.

* * *

In his dreams, Dean calls to you.

Each time, some part of you twitches. (Go to him. Answer him.) But Dean is unconscious, and his calls for you are irrelevant, so you need not answer him.

* * *

Dean finally calls to you, consciously, while you are speaking with Zachariah.

“At last,” Zachariah says, and urges you to go.

You land behind him, and he turns toward you. He is grotesque, halfway transmuted into a demon, human but not human.

(Iridescent.)

“Are you looking down at me now, Cas?” he demands.

(No. Never.)

“Is that what this is? What you learned upstairs?” he goes on.

“You’re corrupted,” you reply, and again, you speak truth. “You’re corrupted, and you refuse help.”

Dean comes nearer and says, “Yeah, I’ve refused help. Maybe I like myself this way.”

(But he doesn’t. He hates this.)

“You don’t,” you say. It is still the truth, so it can be said.

“Like hell I don’t,” he insists.

“I know what you think of yourself, Dean,” you tell him. “I’ve seen your thoughts.”

Dean comes closer yet, green eyes intent, and you want to recoil with disgust, but you cannot look away.

(You don’t want to look away.)

“Yeah, you have,” Dean says, nodding. “You saw it all, Cas, and you kept coming back for more.”

(Because you wanted more.)

“You knew what I am,” Dean goes on, “and you let me fuck you anyway.”

Hot breaths on your back, Dean moving inside you, huge, implacable, making himself a part of you. Yours.

You already belonged to him.

You still belong to him.

“Dean,” you say, and your voice trembles.

Dean’s eyes bleed black as he smiles.


End file.
